#skypiefics

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The floorboards creak as Alberto approaches behind him. Hands land on his tense shoulders, thumbs circling along his neck. A grateful groan falls from his lips, the force as Alberto kneads under his aching shoulder blades making his vision go blurry.

Warm breath draws goosebumps on his neck when Alberto leans closer to whisper, "Maybe you need a break to inspire a stroke of brilliance?" -- Or, Alberto is bored. Luca is busy. No one's surprised at what that leads to.

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Second & final chapter, ‘cause me saying “I’m not gonna write another chapter” is the recipe for me writing another chapter.

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Hunk for help Seeking a strong man, good with his hands, not afraid to get dirty, for help around apartment. Bring all your tools, have many hard problems that need fixing. Luca (M28, slight, cute, brunet). Or: Drunk, lonely and horny, Luca places a personal ad looking for company. Alberto, no thoughts, reading comprehension lacking, doesn't realize he's been cast in a plumber/neglected housewife porno. Stupidity ensues.

THIS IS FINALLY DONE and it’s SO dumb pls enjoy <3

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Alberto’s arm had slung over Luca’s shoulder, and with a laugh of breathless relief said, “Marry me.” 

A snort escaped Luca before he could think. "As if."

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It’s finished! We’ve got our happy ending! 

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Mindless and dumb fluff sick fic I wrote while I had the flu 🎉

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It’s Sunday morning and you’re pretending you aren’t awake, pretending you don’t know Alberto isn’t asleep.

It’s getting more impossible with each sleepover, because his breath is never as slow and easy as it is when he’s tucked into your chest, because his fingers are shyly tracing the lines in your palm, because it’s clear as day but evaporates in the light. 

You want to say so much. You want to tell him everything. You want to tell him things you don’t have the words for. You want to show him, feel him, see him; you want him to show you, feel you, see you. You want the animal you sense deep in his eyes, the one he’s holding underwater, hoping to one day drown it by his own hand so he won’t take yours.

Saying anything at all would ruin everything.

So you don’t.

You say nothing and try to absorb and remember all the rightness; the indescribable sky-soaring feeling of closeness, the grounding safety of his gravity, the sunflower unfolding in your heart.

It’s Sunday morning and until your mother knocks on the door and Alberto slams against the wall to get away from you quick enough you can pretend you don’t know; pretend he doesn’t know; pretend you aren’t pretending; pretend that it might ever be enough.

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more hold my breath for me

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hold my breath for me - we’re finally getting into luberto territory

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Nothing has ever been yours, until suddenly, everything is. Offered to you with the put-upon and off-handed casualness when given no other chance, offering his hand like it’s nothing when it’s everything.  

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Aight been thinking about posting this for a while as I’m not making much headway on this long fic idea. There’s kind of an intro post to it here, I can’t be assed to re-explain again. cw for referenced/vaguely described underage sex/sexual assault, a shitton of fuckloads of homophobia, and a general warning for probably the whumpiest thing i’ve ever posted

You’re different.

You don’t know why or how you’re different, but you know.

You’ve always known, seen it in the twitch of an eyebrow, in the downturned corner of a mouth, in the unspoken what’s wrong with you, forever carved into your heart the one time it was spoken. Even when they’re trying to be nice about it, not worry you, there’s a slight pause, a lift of their tongues, the moment of recalibration they do to stop their true intentions from slipping through their teeth before shaping them into a smile.

You’re different and no one likes it and no one tells you why. You can’t ask why. You don’t know how, the question too expansive and intangible as a shiver of wind across waves, fleeting just out of the corner of your eye before you turn to look.

You don’t know how you’re different until someone sees you, really sees you, the surprised revelation bare in their eyes as they see the mirror in yours. And in a moment you would walk to the ends of the earth for them, naked, stumbling, bruised and battered, risking everything simply to see your own reflection. 

And that’s your failure. Your one, biggest mistake in life. The hole in your heart so deep, so desperate for something to fill it that you settle for anything.

Anything tastes like muffling your sobs into a cracked leather seat, sour cigarette smoke stuck in your sinuses, the annoyed sigh waiting for you to get over it already, you should be grateful, I was gentle since it’s your first time.

Gentle tastes like bile in your throat and your back quivering trying to recover from the cramping. Gentle tastes like a couple of lira shoved into your palms to get some gum or something. Gentle tastes like tears in your eyes for days and still coming back for more next week.

Gentle is never gentle, but you learn to take it, greedy hands grabbing for anything, anyone who will grab back, and treat you how you deserve.

Portorosso isn’t big, but you learn to find others like you. Or rather, they find you. You learn just how many milliseconds too long a man’s eyes linger on you to differentiate between cordial and carnal. You learn to follow them, far enough behind to not rouse suspicion, muffling the slap of your bare feet on cobblestone, sneaking glances over your shoulders and in windows. You learn to slink through their back doors and play comfortable in their bed, grateful when the scent of their wives’ perfume disguises the scent of your own shame.

After the first few, it gets easier. You get recommended and passed on like an exotic commodity, strangers casually mentioning they’ve heard a lot about you, making your skin prickle with their demanding grins. They know you won’t say no. You hate them for it. You hate yourself more.

You can’t explain it. You can’t explain it to save your life. How much it hurts, contorting into anything these disgusting men want, fearing both your mind and back will one day snap. How it’s worth it for feeling a little less alone, for the rare occasion someone will stroke your cheek and kiss you without teeth, when your heart flutters and believes in the possibility of gentleness, until you’re shoved unceremoniously out the back door, alone and aching both more and less than before.

Being passed between hands is better than having no arms around you, to compress you until you’re nothing more than the lump of charcoal you call a heart. 

You take it. You’re grateful. It’s a whole lot better than nothing.

This is all there is for people like you. You don’t get happy endings. You pick out words whispered behind hands, that are later tossed around like sharp rocks by the older kids, words that prick at the carved-out letters in your heart. Sometimes, rarely, you see yourself in movies, and your heart pounds and aches and yearns, but their endings have you clutching your chest, desperate to tear out the danger inside it.

This is all there is for people like you. 

You have no evidence to the contrary.

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An aimless hold my breath for me update, as a treat for me<3

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PSYCHE I did end up writing something for the anniversary 😗✌️

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Fuck it, posting the start of what might’ve been the start to a prequel to hard feelings that’s never getting anywhere

You asked him to hold you, because you were shaking with nerves. Excited and scared and so very, very proud, so proud of yourself and so pleased that he would be so proud of you. Finally proof all his hard work had paid off. “I got into university. In Rome.”

“You did?” he asked breathlessly as his eyes turned round. Awed, you thought.

“Yes!” You couldn’t help the little giggle as you reached up to cup his face.

“Luca, I am so proud of you, God, you’re-” he exhaled through his nose and rested his forehead against yours. “You’re fucking amazing.” Your smile was so big your cheeks ached. You closed your eyes and tilted your face upwards, nudging your noses together and opening your lips. Except he didn’t kiss you like he usually did, didn’t press against you until you had to lean backwards and he had to wrap his arms around you so you wouldn’t fall. He didn’t make gravity ease its grip on you the way only he can. He twisted his face away and buried it in your shoulder. “But…”

“But what, Alberto?” You didn’t suspect anything, yet. You were still high on the rush of pride and hard-worn achievement and beating the odds, on his scent and warm skin so close, you had been high on it for five years. You expected to feel a teasing grin on your skin, for him to make fun of you or growl that he wanted to fuck you right here and now, no walls and broad daylight be damned, or some other insanely stupid shit you loved but never fully appreciated. “But what, Alberto?”

In hindsight, you don’t understand how you didn’t understand it quicker. But it’s always been like this, hasn’t it. You’ve never listened to him, not really, just heard.

Heard and heard the neverending stream of chattering, how he mumbles to himself and into your skin, how he shouts and swears and sings to anyone who will listen, how he whispers late at night when you’re half-asleep and doesn’t think you’ll hear him.

But you never listened, did you. You’re quite certain of that now. If you had, everything would have turned out different, wouldn’t it, and he’d still be background radio noise you could tune into and hum along to whenever you wanted.

A trembling inhale that drew goosebumps from you, like he was pulling them out of your skin. Your eyes fluttered shut and you were so happy, you had all your dreams and all your love in your hands at once. “I’m not sure I can do this.”

It took a second for his words to sink in, for your smile to fade and the warm sea breeze to turn into a chill rising the hairs on the back of your neck. “What do you mean?”

“I can’t take you leaving again,” he whispered into your skin, and you heard the low rumbling cracks spreading in his voice.

Still, you had hope. You always figured things out, together, because you were a team, always had been. “I’ll come back.”

“It’s not enough.”

“But Beto, I-”

“I can’t live my life just waiting for you, Luca. I can’t spend every day missing you. I-” He looked away and turned hard and sharp the way you hate. Usually you could kiss and whisper into his ear until he turned into wet sand in your hands, and sighed and thanked you and loved you, but you didn’t think he wanted you to. “I hoped that was over.”

“I told you I applied,” you mumbled as the exhilaration left you, deflating like a balloon. “You knew.”

“But Rome?” He looked at you incredulously. “How far is that, six hours?”

“Yes, but-”

“Even a weekend trip will be so much work. Genova was bad enough.”

“But- but- wouldn’t you consider… coming with me?” He stared at you, unblinking. “It’s by the coast, there are loads of pescherias, larger fisheries even, and there are tons of mechanics who would be lucky to have you, and, and, I’ll need an apartment anyways, it doesn’t have to be big, hell,” you paused to laugh, “we’re still sharing your tiny bed, aren’t we?”

You expected him to laugh too. He used to be so easy to distract. By you, especially. 

“Luca, I-” he sighed and turned his eyes to survey the group of kids kicking around a football in the plaza, and the gaggle of kittens rolling belly up in the sunbeams, strays who were slowly turning into Marcovaldos the way all strays had a tendency to.

“We can make do. We don’t need much, Beto, as long as we have each other, right?” You almost cringed at the clichéd words. “We can- we can figure this out.” You refrained from adding please. You were desperate, but you had dignity. You wish you didn’t.

“It’s - I… I guess I hoped you’d stay.”

“You knew I applied, Alberto. I just…” You lifted a hand to touch his face, but it turned away from you. You quickly redirected your hand to brush some hair behind your ear and stared resolutely at your knees. “I don’t understand why you’re surprised.”

Quiet, before a sigh so heavy there couldn’t be any air in his lungs or fight in his heart. “I don’t, either.”

Anger flashed white hot in your heart.

After everything you did for him, pulled him kicking and screaming out of loneliness and mistreatment and gave him everything he wanted, a home, a family, a purpose. You. 

Chased by the heavy guilt freezing in your veins.

After everything you did to him. Pointed at his scales burning in the sunset, promised him the world and left, left, left, time and time again.

You convinced him that the story he’d been told since before he could remember wasn’t true, that he wasn’t made to be chewed up and spit into the gutter, but did the exact same yourself.

“Is this it then?” you asked quietly. “For us?”

You looked over at him and wondered if the relaxing muscles of his jaws were relief.

“I think it is.”

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He doesn’t feel home until Alberto lifts his suitcase and offers him a hand with a look so hopeful it breaks his heart and puts it back together all at once.

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Surprise! this got a second chapter :)